


Witcher Drabbles

by Decorera



Category: Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Church of the Eternal Fire, Crossover, Gen, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 19:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11539254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decorera/pseuds/Decorera
Summary: Just a place to post small ideas in The Witcher Fandom that will probably never be full stories, but might some day.  Each chapter is a different drabble.Unbetaed.





	1. Beloved of Fire

“Really,” Dustfinger drawled to the brilliant bonfire next to him, “I think I’m blaming you for all this.” 

The sacred fire snapped and popped at him from the giant bowl on the stone floor of the Great Temple of the Eternal Fire. 

Dustfinger rolled his eyes. “No, of course I didn’t want to be burned alive. In fact, I think all the poor sods they’ve been burning like Caladay Candles would very much have enjoyed NOT being burned alive.”

The fire shuddered and let loose a heavy sigh of smoke. Dustfinger was immediately contrite and reached into the flames to run his hand gently over the logs; brushing away the coating of ash that had settled. “No, of course, I’m not blaming you. You did what fire does. It’s not your fault the terrible things they’ve been doing with you.”

The fire leapt up and licked at Dustfinger’s cheek before settling back to crackle merrily. Dustfinger chuckled and added a log from a nearby stack to the joyful fire.

“Um,”

Dustfinger looked up with his arm still engulfed in the fire. He narrowed his eyes at the priest who was hovering nearby with wide eyes. “What?” he growled out as he pulled his arm out and gently brushed the bit of flame smoldering on his hand back to its parent fire.

The priest gulped. “Ah, Most Holy Avatar of the Sacred Fire,” Dustfinger rolled his eyes. “They are ready for you, at the gates of the temple.”

Dustfinger growled and awkwardly got to his feet. The rich robes they had sewn up just for him hung like iron shackles from his shoulders. He could hear the fire crackling with laughter at him. He turned and scooped up a handful of the fire.

“You better not think you are getting out of this.” He muttered grumpily as he deposited the fire on his shoulder where it happily began burning a hole through the velvet robe. “If you want me to make all those changes to this Church business, you better speak up. I’m returning a favor, not starting a new career as a public speaker.” 

The fire and the firespeaker strode through the huge ornate gates and out onto the plaza. What looked like all of Novigrad was waiting for them and they knelt in unison before them. Dustfinger turned white with fright at the sight of them all and only the fire’s comforting murmur kept him from running all the way back home to his wife and daughter. 

“This is all the Black Prince’s fault. Why on earth did he think a tour of Northern Kingdoms was a good idea!” Dustfinger strode forward with more confidence then he really felt. “Oh and Ciri,” he whispered to the fire, “Let’s not forget her amazing contribution to my current predicament. If that girl ever reappears, I’m going to strangle her.” 

He raised a hand in welcome to the mob which responded with a truly terrifying amount of cheering and prayers. “And Dandelion…” Dustfinger muttered darkly as he ascended the platform to an actual, for the gods’ sakes, throne. He couldn’t even alliterate his hatred for the bard and his stupid plans. He sat and an awful silence fell over the whole crowd as they waited for their living god to speak to them. Dustfinger froze, 

“Oh hell.”


	2. After the Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This was originally written as part of a story I am working on which follows “Only in Cintra”, however new ideas rendered this one obsolete. I like this bit of writing though so I’m posting it my drabbles collection. In ”Only in Cintra” Geralt gets involved in a relationship with Duny/Emhyr and Pavetta.)

(set during the Invasion of Cintra in the First War between Nilfgard and the North. Emhyr has just taken Cintra but not found Ciri. Also would be helpful if you’ve read the witcher short story “Something More” from the second anthology of short stories “Sword of Destiny”, but it is not necessary.)

“Ahhhhhhh” the corpse rasped, “So I was right. It wassss you, Duny.” She coughed and rasped, “It was the offer for surrender that gave you away. Not cold enough. And you have never asked for child hostages before now. Sssssloppy Duny, very sssssplopy.”

Emhyr stared coldly into her eyes but spoke only a single sentence, “Where is she?”

The corpse shook with what in life would have been laughter but with the slashes and holes riddling her corpse came out more like a hitching gurgling hiss. The sorceress intensified her focus on the spell and the answer was dragged out of the hissing corpse.

“Evacuated and fled where I know not. Not to Skellege.” The corpse rolled her head brokenly upon her neck to stare eerily at Emhyr. “Worry not for her safety. He will find her soon enough. Destiny… Destiny.” Her tongue lolled out in a grotesque smile. “You will never see them again, Duny. He’ll take her far far away. To the ends of the earth rather than let you take her. He’ll never trust you now. Not after what you’ve done to Cintra.”

Emhyr stood and clenched his fist, “It would never have been necessary if you hadn’t forced every man, woman, and child in the castle to suicide. Such ridiculously unnecessary loss of life, Calanthe, and you did it simply to spite me.”

“Yeeesss, yes. You have conquered Cintra but festering in its heart is a wound that will never heal; only grow bitter with gall. You may have Cintra for now, but the nobility will never forget this loss. Never forget whose fault it is.”

Emhyr struck her and a piece of her face tore away. He leaned close to the disgusting face and spoke with quiet affirmation, “Yours, Calanthe. It was always your fault, your damn pride. I will make sure they remember the Butcher of Cintra.”

He straightened and slashed a hand at the sorceress who let go of the spell with a sigh of relief. Calanthe screamed in agony and rage before collapsing with a meaty splat. The emperor called for his servant.

“Have the body cremated and mix her ashes with salt and silver. She is to be given full burial rights but her epitaph shall read: Butcher of Cintra.”

His servant bowed, with a murmured, “As you have commanded.” Emhyr beckoned to the sorceress impatiently. They strode through the camp back to the sorceress’ tent. Emhyr jerked his head to her crystal mirror, “Show me Geralt of Rivia.”

The sorceress opened her mouth to protest but quailed under Emhyr’s stare. She raised her hand wearily. The crystal mirror glowed bright and then images appeared. Emhyr ignored the panting and sweating sorceress to examine the image greedily. In the mirror stood a tall silver haired man wearing black armor trimmed with silver. He carried a pair of impressive swords on his back. His expression was troubled.

Suddenly the man jerked around as it hearing his name called by a familiar voice. The man’s face made an extraordinary change from almost grotesque with banked fury and tense weariness to an almost beatific glow of joy to his golden eyes and slack jawed relief to his face. He broke out into a run through a field. A small country home with a family (A man with wife and two boys) came into focus behind him and just as quickly the background changed, giving a sense of exactly how fast the man was moving. As suddenly as he began running, he stopped. The man paused; his gaze lowered as if looking at something on the ground. Then he loped forward a few more paces and dropped to his knees, arms open as if to embrace someone. Another person’s form, a child’s, joined him in the mirror for the barest hint of a moment before the mirror flashed. 

When his eyes cleared, Emhyr saw nothing but his own reflection staring back at him. Eyes like a hungry hawk stared into the mirror; greedy for the sight of the child he had seen but for only a moment. He sneered at his own face and closed his eyes to firmly fix the brief sight into his memory. Her hair was more silver than Pavetta’s mousey gold. A little stubby nose. His own determined jaw. That very jaw, whose copy he had seen but a moment before, clenched tightly before he gritted out the words, “Get it back.”

The sorceress tried but the spell failed. She fell back away from him, murmuring about interference and a Power she could not see. Emhyr was unsurprised but still angry enough to leave the tent before he did something he would regret later. No sorcerer had ever been able to scry upon Cirilla. The Elder Blood flowed too strongly within her and, as the Druids had put it, Destiny encircled her like a shroud.

Emhyr entered his own tent and sank like a stone into his camp chair. He ran his fingers into his thinning hair as he hunched forward; curling in defense like the hedgehog monster he had been so long ago. ‘So now I have lost them all. Pavetta, Cirilla, and Geralt. The bitch won, her final revenge.’ Geralt would take Ciri deep into the Northern Kingdoms away from Nilfgaardian influence. It would be years before Emhyr could establish the control necessary to make Nilfgaard welcome enough for his envoys to search for them openly. As soon as it got out that he wanted Geralt and Cirilla, every king in the north would rabidly hunt them down as some twisted bargaining chip.

What then to do? His first instinct was to put a price of Geralt’s head. A truly enormous sum for a live capture. If he could just talk to him, surely Geralt could be made to understand. Or even if they just found them, his spies could bring Cirilla home. Yet Emhyr hesitated. To put a price on Geralt’s head would be to endanger the man and his only child and Emhyr knew already that Geralt would fight to the death to protect Cirilla. Furthermore, if that was his first instinct…

Surely that is what Calanthe predicted he would do. Which would only further villainize him in Geralt’s eyes. Making his goal of bringing his child home to him that much harder. Clever clever Calthanthe. The bitch.

What to do? Every moment Geralt would be taking his child further and further away. No, that was the wrong path. Emhyr relaxed. He didn’t have to find Geralt. He needed to find Yennifer.

\--------------

“I am going to admit to you something I have never admitted to anyone since I took back my father’s throne. I am going to tell you the truth and that is why you have your little bauble there so that you can hear this truth and know I am not deceiving you.

Ciri is my daughter by Pavetta. I am Duny.

I can see you wondering. You know this is true and you want to know why I am telling you this. Why I am handing you a weapon to use against me. One that any of the northern kings would pay extraordinarily handsomely for. To reassure you, I am not planning on detaining you or having you killed. You are free to leave here with this knowledge.

Why? I couldn’t be safer. You know perfectly well if you told anyone, even your closest friend in the lodge, Geralt and Ciri would be in extremely serious danger. While I have my doubts as to whether you truly love Geralt – and I see now, that you do as well- Cirilla is deep in your affection and you will do nothing to harm her.

How do I know? I made a careful study of you before I sent for you, Yennefer. Your history tells me many things but most important is this: You desperately want a child of your own and, while over thirty different procedures have been tried and failed, your sometimes lover Geralt of Rivia has finally given you one.

For the past year, you have played house with Geralt and his ward. You have not strayed even once during that entire year. Not one excursion to examine magical phenomenon. No visits to other lovers. Nothing but a simple quiet life of fostering young Ciri in magic and your affection.

No, I am not angry. I hold the greatest debt to you and Geralt. Where the late Calanthe used my child over and over as a tool, you and Geralt seem to hold real affection and regard for her.

What do I want? I want what any decent father should want. I want to know my child is safe and cared for. I would prefer to know that empirically; to have her come home to me where she can get to know me now that it is safe for her to stand by my side. However, I am willing to simply receive regular reports from you and Geralt. I trust the two of you to see to her care even if you cannot trust me with the same.

I have here a set of Megascope crystals. They are designed to be only one way and have a very powerful aversion spell to keep out spies. I wish for you to take a set when you go. Go and find Geralt and Cirilla. Make sure they are safe and hale. Once you have, I ask you to please contact me with these crystals and tell me so. As one parent to another, that is all I ask of you.”


End file.
